


Your Chatter Is My Favorite Song

by xxxbookaholic



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon, Sappy Ending, Short & Sweet, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29251230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxxbookaholic/pseuds/xxxbookaholic
Summary: Sometimes, looking at his boyfriend was like looking at the sun without glasses; he was bright and sweet, but gaze at him too much and you’d lose your sight. It was intoxicating, it was painful, and by that point, Azami wasn’t sure what the difference between the two was.orazami works up the nerve to propose
Relationships: Hyoudou Kumon/Izumida Azami
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	Your Chatter Is My Favorite Song

Even after dating for years, Azami and Kumon had never celebrated Valentine’s Day together. There were no special dates, no bouquets of red roses, and definitely no heart-shaped chocolates. They had just never felt the need to; both of them already knew they loved each other, so there was no reason to only show it once a year. That was how it had always been, and how it would always be. Or, well, how it _would_ be if Azami wasn’t currently sitting down across from the love of his life at a restaurant table and gripping the velvet box that sat in his pocket for dear life.

Actually, thinking back on it, his current plan was a thousand times better than the original; said original being popping the question at the end of a professional baseball match, in front of just about everyone who remained in the bleachers. All it took was one potential panic attack from Kumon to shut down that idea for good. _Still, it’s not like this is much better,_ Azami thought, grimacing behind his menu.

Kumon was seemingly oblivious to his boyfriend’s worry, too fixated on the shonen anime he was currently droning on about. In other words, it was his usual go-to for small talk whenever they went out, because no matter how many times they so much as held hands in public, neither of them were ever prepared for the feelings it brought out. _But I don’t have time to worry about that._ He took a deep breath and steeled his nerves, turning all of his attention back to the purple-haired boy.

A nervous smile was splayed out across his face, twitching every time people walked by their table or talked too loudly. At one point in their relationship, Azami would have taken him home at the first sign of anxiety, ignorant to just how small the problem may be. Now that he knew better, however, he just nodded along and let him ramble about whatever came to mind, content with simply listening. After all, there was no song better than Kumon’s chatter. Azami knew that now more than ever.

Despite this, however, even he couldn’t stay on topic for long, his mind too caught up on other things. The box began to feel like it weighed a pound, slowing him down and making his hands jitter. _Is it too early?_ He wondered, tucking a strand of stray hair behind his ear. Sure, they’d been together for quite a few years now, but even so, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe things were going too quickly. _Should I wait? Will he even care?_

It didn’t take long for those thoughts to turn from yipping puppies to blaring sirens, ringing through his ears and reminding him of all the things he could have possibly done wrong. _Will Kumon refuse? I accidentally forgot to turn on the dishwasher yesterday, after all. Maybe that changed his mind about us? But that’s stupid, and Kumon isn’t stupid, so that wouldn’t happen, right? Right?_ Ah, hell. Who was he kidding? Azami was already screwed; he might as well pay the bill and pack it up now.

The sensation of a hand over his own interrupted him from his train of carefully thought-out reasoning, reminding him steadily that even if he were to get up and walk out, he’d be leaving one of the best people in his life behind. _I can’t do that. Not to myself,_ he looked up at his boyfriend’s waiting gaze, _and not to Kumon, either._

“Hey, are you sick?” Kumon asked, eyebrows furrowed. All traces of anxiety were gone from his face, instead replaced by obvious concern and something else that looked awfully close to unadulterated love. For just a second, Azami allowed himself to melt under his stare, a smile replacing the awkward scowl that had crossed his face. “You just look really pale. We can go home, if you want?”

_But what was home, if not with Kumon?_ “I’m fine,” he said instead, nodding in what he hoped to be a reassuring manner. “But I do have something to ask.”

“Huh?” Kumon straightened up, hands curling into fists on the table’s surface. “Okay, shoot!” His expression was completely focused, like it often was when he played baseball or read over Tsuzuru’s new script. It was endearing in an odd, lovesick kind of way. _God, I’m starting to sound like Muku. Fuck._

Azami took a second to think over what he was going to say. As much as he wanted to just get down on one knee and get it over with right then and there, he knew that he couldn’t. It would be overwhelming for not just Kumon, but for the both of them, and honestly, he wasn’t interested in getting a bunch of attention on them. Their relationship was nobody’s business but their own. Still, he wanted to get a little bit of closure before making up his mind. So, he asked the most subtle question he could come up with: “So, how do you feel about marriage?”

Kumon choked on the lemonade he’d been sipping since they got there, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. _Nailed it._ He stared at him unblinking for a moment, as if going over his options, and then coughed out, “it doesn’t sound too bad. Why are you asking?” His voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard, it broke so much, but Azami couldn’t find it in himself to care when he was looking at him with the prettiest blush painting his cheeks.

“I was just wondering,” he mumbled between bites of bread, finally drawing his eyes away from Kumon. Sometimes, looking at his boyfriend was like looking at the sun without glasses; he was bright and sweet, but gaze at him too much and you’d lose your sight. It was intoxicating, it was painful, and by that point, Azami wasn’t sure what the difference between the two was.

“Oh,” Kumon breathed back, eyes still stuck on him like glue. The red on his face died down, but spots of pink still remained, like evidence to a wonderful crime scene. They remained silent after that, breaths of air being the only sound between them, but even so, Azami was still painfully aware of every move his partner made, whether it be moving to get a chip from their appetizer basket or tapping his index finger on the table. People on either side of them talked on about this and that but Azami couldn’t hear a thing they said, his focus too wrapped around Kumon.

A few minutes passed and Kumon opened his mouth to say something, probably to quench their awkward silence, but a waiter that neither of them had noticed interrupted him, saying something about a soup of the day and steak specialty. Azami ordered without even thinking, eyes scanning his menu half-heartedly, and although Kumon’s face seemed totally concentrated, he was sure that he felt the same. _Fuck it, I’m going to wait until after dinner for this proposal. One measly little ring can wait._

“So,” Azami said when she stepped away, all the while playing with a bit of bread that he’d torn off. “Ben Nye just released a new palette.” And with that, their conversation got swept up into idle comments and excited confirmations, both of them going back and forth on a subject that only one of them was truly familiar with. That was how most things were with them, and to be honest, Azami never could find a reason to hate him. There was something about Kumon’s bright eyes, like he was searching for something that he would surely never find, that drew Azami in further and further, eliciting word after word, sentence after sentence.

Their exchanges were the song that Azami just couldn’t stop listening to, no matter how replayed it got. When Muku first told him that what he was describing was love, he’d denied it outright and forbade him from mentioning it ever again.

Now, all his thoughts could only be summarized by one simple, four-word sentence: _I love you, Kumon._ There was nothing in the world he knew better than that.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

Dinner went by remarkably quickly, as per all things did with Kumon. Whether or not that was a blessing or a curse, he still wasn’t positive. Thinking about it, maybe it was neither; not everything was black and white, right? His relationship with Kumon taught him that more than anything else ever had before.

“Uh, this isn’t the way home,” a melodic voice reminded him from behind, tone laced with bewilderment. Azami tilted his head to look behind him, pasting a blank face on as best as he could.

“I’m aware,” he replied, amusement stirring in his chest at Kumon’s familiarly wide eyes. “We’re making a pit stop before going back, if you don’t mind.” He tried to keep his explanation as vague as possible; just one slip, one accident, and he’d probably be tempted to back out of the proposal as a whole.

_I’ve come too far to give up now,_ he thought to himself, turning back around and speeding up his pace. _I_ want _to marry him, god damnit._ He hadn’t wanted something so much since his first job interview as a makeup artist, when he’d spent his whole week dancing around the room holding a flyer and eyeshadow brush. Back then, he’d thought he would never be that happy again. Now, he knew he was wrong.

Fire crackled in the distance and stars twinkled overhead but he pointedly ignored them, one hand gripped tightly around Kumon’s and the other finding a place in his pocket, holding the heavy box as a sort of grounding mechanism. He only stopped walking when he reached his destination.

A creaky metal gate swung open and shut in front of him, squealing with the effort to stay on its hinges. Unlike during the day, the field beyond that gate was completely deserted, with only a few left-over baseballs and wooden bats remaining scattered upon the muddy ground. On any normal occasion, Azami would cringe at the dirt sticking to his heels, but this time, rather than sticky soles and sweaty legs, all he could feel was his own heart pounding wildly in his chest. The sensation was utterly hypnotizing, leaving him breathless despite having only walked a few miles.

“Why are we here?” Kumon asked but walked forward nonetheless, shoving the rickety door open and taking a step inside the park. Azami followed behind him, keeping his gaze trained directly on the shadowy purple-hair rather than the white-painted grass.

Instead of responding, he grabbed his partner’s shoulder and tugged him towards the bleachers, leading him up step after step. The two of them continued hiking upwards until they reached the top set of chairs, upon which Azami halted in his movements and twirled around to face Kumon. Swallowing up his nerves, he stared him right in the eye and finally, finally, began talking.

“Kumon, growing up, I’d never been one for lovey dovey confessions. It was just gross. In fact, it’s _still_ gross! Really, people need to learn to keep that shit to themselves,” he began, eyes flicking away for moments at a time. On one hand, he wanted to gauge his boyfriend’s expression as best he could; on the other, he was afraid of what he’d see if he looked too hard. “But for some reason, I feel the need to give you one. Maybe it’s because we need to have at least one of these cheesy romance-worthy moments before getting married. Just for show, you know? Plus, it’s Valentine’s Day. I might as well try to make this special.” At that, Kumon stumbled backwards, being caught only by Azami’s hand wrapped around his arm.

“The first time you asked me out, it was right here on these bleachers. At the time, I didn’t even know I was capable of love; years of neglect do that to you, I guess. But for whatever reason, I wanted to try with you. There was just something about you that got me attached. Maybe it was the way your eyes light up when you talk about your interests, or maybe it was how you let me close to your heart, even while knowing how vulnerable trust really was. Either way, you gave me a home, and I wanted to repay you for that somehow.

“But then eventually, I fell in love, too. I’m not really sure how it happened. In fact, maybe it had been like that all along and I was just too stupid to see it? It doesn’t really matter anymore.” He shrugged it all off, eyes trained on their shoes.

“What does matter is that I still feel the same way as I did back then, and I want to keep feeling this way. This is just too amazing to give up; I don’t want to step away for even a second, because I don’t think I’ll ever find anyone better. Valentine’s Day is a dumb holiday for selling shitty heart-shaped chocolates, but that doesn’t mean we can’t make the most of it. So,” he cut himself off, abruptly getting down (falling) onto one knee.

It took him a few seconds to fish the box out of his pocket, mostly because his hands were getting more slippery with sweat by the second, but he managed to tug it out eventually, popping it open with a gentle nudge. For the first time since he’d started talking, he looked up to meet Kumon’s eyes, and what he saw sent him into shock.

Through the dark, tears glistened on his cheeks, lip jutted out like a child and eyebrows raised to his hairline. When they made eye contact, he finally broke, leaning over and coughing out a few sobs. “Is this a joke?” He asked between cries, cheeks puffed out.

Azami almost dropped the ring in his effort to jump up and grab Kumon’s hands, desperate to calm him down. _Did I do something wrong? Does he not want to marry me? Fuck, fuck, fuck. I knew this was a bad idea, I fucking knew it._ “Hey, hey,” he muttered, tugging on his fingers one by one. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I’d make you cry. I’ll stop!”

Kumon froze, eyes glazed over with guilt. “So it is a joke?” He asked, voice cracking at the end of his question. He looked even more hurt than he had before, somehow.

“What?” Azami asked, jaw dropped open. “No, no! Why would I joke about that? Marriage is a serious matter,” he said. He was half offended that Kumon would think he’d ever do that and half thankful that he wasn’t crying over something more serious, like a broken arm or wanting to break up. For a second, he even almost relaxed.

“So you’re being serious?” He ventured, expression scarily serious.

“Obviously,” Azami held himself back from rolling his eyes, not wanting to upset him more than he probably already had.

“Oh,” Kumon mumbled, tightening his grip on Azami’s hand. “I’m sorry. I thought this was some prank that Taichi set you up to,” he said, wiping away a few tears with his spare hand.

“Don’t apologize idiot,” he laughed earnestly, tilting his head. “You’re so weird. Anyways, can I finish?” Despite his calm voice, Azami’s nerves were itching at him like crazy. _What if I was right? What if he isn’t ready? Am I pushing him into something? Am I being a bad boyfriend? What if–_

“That would be nice.” Azami had never fallen to the floor quicker, opening the box back up and steeling his expression.

“Fuck the formalities,” he said politely, wanting nothing more than to just hear a _yes_ already. “Will you marry me?”

Kumon paused, mouth splitting into a smile, and then nodded, collapsing down across from him. “Yeah,” he confirmed, jumping forward to bury his face in Azami’s neck. “Yeah, I’ll marry you.” Warmth spread up Azami’s body like a tsunami, wrapping up from his arms to his nose in a matter of seconds, but the heat didn’t stop him from wrapping his arms around the back of Kumon’s neck in response.

“Good, because I wasn’t going to repeat that shit all over again,” he joked, shutting his eyes tight, if only to keep his own tears from spilling out. Nowhere in his Wikihow tutorials for proposal had he been told that two people crying was a good thing.

Crickets chirped, birds sang, wind whistled, but even all of that was blown away by the breeze, leaving nothing left behind but Kumon and Azami. By that point, he was just a broken radio, mumbling random words and endearments into his boyfriend–fiancé’s–ear, and Azami couldn’t care less. Nothing mattered more than this moment, this tender, happy moment, with their arms wrapped around each other and tears staining his newly-bought cardigan.

_I’m in love with him,_ he repeated to himself one more time, just for good measure. _And I’m okay with that._

He would be okay with anything, he realized, as long as Kumon remained by his side through it all.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed! this fic was a pleasure to write, mostly just because i love the idea of azami being a total sap for kumon. also yes muku was his wingman when they first got together, no i will not elaborate.   
> im not really a fan of valentine's day, and that probably shows in this fic, but i thought the idea would be cute nonetheless. im not all that great with senseless fluff yet so i hope this turned out nicely! please leave comments and kudos, since it really encourages me.  
> my tumblr is xxxbookaholic if you're interested. i write quite a few fanfictions, headcanons, and have two a3! incorrect quotes posted daily. :)   
> have a nice rest of your day/night!


End file.
